fishnets 

i am a story of gathering. 
flesh & gills.
the salt of our breath. i was so young when
i first got caught on the side of a boat.
did not know that men would
drag the wash for my meat. 
i thought everything was blue
& that we would swim until 
we were water. 
they mistook me for a merperson.
i was just a fish. a scout 
of the deep. my legs, like 
scissors in the air. 
i bought cameras to hold myself.
learned the fisherman's language. 
drift & knot & keep & catch. 
craved his gender. i know now
that i am the harvested & harvester.
a harpoon in the side of a planet.
i am not a species that grows 
wiser with age. instead, i find myself
on a dark street, gill-less & hungry. 
above in the night sky the bellies
of the ships wear water-ripples
like pleated skirts. did you know
that the word "hammock" comes
from a taino word for fishnets? 
to be human is to always 
be seeking rest in the tangle
of a chase. in some ways it is 
better to be in the net than outside it.
maybe that is the limits of my beliefs
in my own gender. i have been gathered.
tossed on the deck. but i have pulled 
the weight of another from water too.
had a moment to repent, a chance
to throw them back, & spent it.